


Mi Chamocha

by YaeL (thesometimeswarrior)



Category: Jewish Scripture & Legend, מדרש | Midrash, תורה | Torah, תנ"ך | Tanakh
Genre: Angst, Book: Exodus, Gen, Parsha Beshalach, Pesach | Passover, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/YaeL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He will not be going back to slavery. He will die as a free man." </p><p>Pursued by the Egyptians, and angry at God, Nachshon makes a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mi Chamocha

It seems to Nachshon that the water sits before them like a taunt. _Ha!_ he can imagine that God of theirs saying. _Ha! After years and years of oppression, I finally got around to liberating you all, and sure, you’re not slaves anymore, but did you for one second actually think you’d be able to go very far?_ Nachshon’s skin is itching because they’re still far too close to Egypt, and with the sea in front of them, it will take them months to be able to circumnavigate enough to get away from that blasted narrow place. He can still feel the blisters all over his body from the hot sun, can still feel the indents on his bones from what seemed like tons of brick, can still feel the whip cracking, shattering through his skin for hours a day. (With all Israel speechless and breathless like this, he swears he can still hear those whips echoing in the distance, and he flinches every time he does.) He needs to _go. Now._ But where can they go?

When they see the dust pouring down the valley and hear the Egyptian chariots rage toward them, while the rest of the people Israel panic, shouting to Moses, crying out to God, Nachshon’s mind is startlingly and decisively clear. He, for one, will not be going back into slavery—this is not a resolution; it is a fact he knows for certain. Therefore, while the crowd around him dissolves into wailing and screams, he calmly walks through them and past them, into the sea without stopping. Vaguely, he hears some of the shouts change—some of them begin to call his name. But he does not stop. He will not be going back to slavery. He will die as a free man.

As he wades deep enough for the water to cover his nose and mouth, the irony of this whole situation strikes him. This God, to whom they have been praying for generations, who was silent while they all suffered, finally takes them out of slavery, only to present them as a gift back to Egypt. Make them look even more pathetic than they actually are. He knows the second he opens his mouth, water will begin to flood his lungs, so he will make his last words count. He proclaims, as loudly as he can, through the water that distorts the words: “Mi Chamocha!” Who is like You, O God? No one else, no other god, could be so sadistic, so cruel. 

And then Nachshon keeps his mouth open, allowing the water to flood in, satisfied that his last words serve to spite a God who has never really done anything for any of them.

And then suddenly he is face first on the muddy ground, coughing up all the water he’s swallowed. He takes a deep breath, perplexed, but otherwise doesn’t move. After a moment, Miriam—Miriam who has always been there throughout all those long years of slavery to raise the spirits of the people, and Nachshon’s spirit personally—is kneeling beside him, and helps him to sit up.

“The-the water,” Nachshon splutters, bewildered. “It’s gone! What…?”

“It’s not gone,” responds Miriam gently. “Look.” 

And when he does, he sees massive walls of water to either side of him, and a path extending across the sea—wide enough for his entire people to cross.

He inhales once. “How?”

“Mi Kamocha.” Miriam smiles at him softly as she quotes him, properly pronouncing the words Nachshon meant to say earlier, before helping him to his feet. “Come. We must go.” 

He is in a daze as they rush across the sea; without Miriam’s hand on his shoulder to guide him, he very much doubts he would have made it across at all. He comes to himself only when, after they are safely on the other side, Miriam and Moses begin to lead the others in song, asking again: “Mi Kamocha!" Had he more energy, he might feel either shame or rage at the fact that his words--words meant to spite their deity--were being reused, now to praise Him.

But as it happens, Nachshon does not have the energy for that. He can only stand, look down toward his muddy feet, wonder: Who is this God of theirs?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
